I RAN INTO Dick Boiler on the first tee. Boiler was one of those millions of angry white males who changed the course of history back in 1994 by tossing out the Democrats in Congress in favor of the Republican revolution.

"Still mad as hell, Boiler?" I asked him as he addressed his ball.

"You bet," he said, "and I'm not going to take this slicing it out of bounds anymore."

"I was talking about politics," I said. "The experts are predicting the lowest voter turnout in history tomorrow. Bob Dole and Ross Perot want to know where's your sense of outrage." "Outrage?" he said. "Sure, what about?"

"Clinton's immorality for starters," I said. "You know, Whitewater, bimbos, sordid campaign contributions. In the old days, no politician could survive such scandals."

"I suppose you're not apoplectic over the president's stands on Somalia, Bosnia and Haiti?"

"I don't follow that stuff a lot," he said without much interest. "I guess he knows what he's doing."

"How do you feel about the battles royal in Congress over Medicare, Social Security, assault weapons, clean water . . ."

"Squabble, squabble, squabble, that's all they do back there," he said, shaking his head. "When they shut down the government over the budget, I said the hell with it."

"I don't suppose you care much, then, about issues like abortion or prayer in the schools?" I asked.

"Well, there's a lot to be said on both sides," he said. "I leave all that legal junk, though, up to the Supreme Court."

"As I recall," I said, "what really ticked you off back in '94 was affirmative action and illegal immigration. You were worried that your job was threatened by pushy blacks and uppity stooped laborers."

"Mighty nice," I said. "What about your wife? Is she still angry, too?"

"Heck, yes," he said. "She's furious with the coach for taking our oldest boy out of the soccer match when our team was ahead three-zip. Darn near wrecked her new Chevy van on the way home."

"I'll bet she's given up marching for more child care, free milk for unwed mothers and a breakthrough of glass ceilings," I said.

"That's right," he said. "I'm sure she still cares, but as she said the other night while we were watching 'The Price is Right' on our 42-inch Ultra- Sound TV, why rock the boat?"

"Yes, well, tell me, Boiler, as the last angry white man in America, for whom are you going to cast your sacred vote tomorrow?"

"Vote?" he said.

"Dammit, Boiler," I said irritably, "it's just that kind of insidious public apathy that is sucking the very life blood out of our cherished democratic heritage. What, in heaven's name, has turned you away from the burning issues of the day?"

Boiler shrugged. "Darned if I know," he said. "Hey, have you checked out my new golf bag?"